Resolute Breath
by Adorelo
Summary: It’s painful, the dull throb of nothingness that starts deep in my stomach, spreading to tie my heart in knots.
1. Chapter 1

_**Thanks: **__To Irony882. You girl, save me from the pit of the grammatical abyss. And to Drommie (FluffyBlonde) for allowing me to be her first beta job __J__ Love to you both._

_**Dedication: **__This one is dedicated to Jacks (Lemon Green) for being amazing and setting me a challenge to break my writers block. She has waited oh so patiently for this one. She gave me , a goat, honey and a night on the town to incorporate in this. Here is the result:_

* * *

I feel empty. Physically and emotionally. I can't remember the last time I ate; I can't remember the last time I smiled. It's painful, the dull throb of nothingness that starts deep in my stomach, spreading to tie my heart in knots.

The pitiful journey I have been on my entire life had come to a surprising bend. My father's final escapade didn't end the way he wanted it to; it wasn't just another night lost in a dingy bar. The call I received wasn't, for once, from a nameless waitress, but the police. Held without bail. His final warning had gone unheeded and I know they couldn't do anymore for him.

Maybe a stint behind bars would do some good. More than I could do.

I knew I should never have handed those keys back over. Those months where he couldn't drive were my happiest. I didn't live in constant fear of the visit telling me he had wrapped himself around a tree or killed someone. But I couldn't do it forever. I'm a cop, not a chauffeur. Now I wish I'd kept at it. What was a few more months to save a woman from a broken leg and my father from an alcohol-induced, reckless endangerment charge?

It was the wake-up call I know we both needed.

The dull throb turns to pain and I sit, feeling dizzy all of a sudden. The lack of food and sleep catches me off guard and I fight a dry heave. My heart can't take much more; it's barely holding together as it is.

Horatio's words filter through my mind, triggered by something I can't quite figure out, 'If you need anything...' I remember his unconvinced frown when I smiled, a silent plea for him to leave it. And he does; of course he does, because he's too polite to push me. If only everyone else would take note.

Of course, by 'everyone', I know inside I mean Eric, but that vague coverage protects me from the possibilities. Verbalizing those emotions has never been a strong point of mine.

I can, however, use metaphors, and do so quite often. I feel it's a way of distancing myself from the meaning behind the words, but of course, it just seeks to make the feelings more vivid. A lost child on a beach, a young goat trapped in a field; metaphorical representations of emotions I refuse to acknowledge I possess.

The loud knock startles me from my thoughts, throwing my concentration, leaving me vulnerable. I answer, catching a glimpse of the clock, noting that it's past nine and I'm still not out of my work clothes. I wonder briefly if it's because I don't want to let go. As a CSI, I can help my father; as a daughter, I can't.

He smiles softly as he enters, a tentative hand reaching to graze my cheek.

"You okay?" His voice is so quiet and I have to strain to catch his words. I don't reply, opting instead to grace him with a small nod. I fear he'll catch the lie in my words, forgetting momentarily that the lie is in my eyes. My non-verbal form of communication was just as ineffective at hiding the truth and, as he sighs, I feel strangely like crying.

He steps closer, entering my apartment without my permission, moving closer to the couch in the living room. Part of me feels like he should ask for permission because it's been so damn long since he was last here. But then, I remind myself, whose fault is that?

"Coffee?" I offer, knowing my underlying request that he stays for a long time does not go unnoticed, as he accepts, even though it's after nine and coffee perhaps isn't such a good idea. I choose instead to sit, arm brushing against his as I join him on the couch, eyes to the floor. His hand once again finds my cheek, lifting it this time, so my eyes meet his.

His eyes search mine, boring holes into my soul, searching for that one fragile wall he knows he can push over. I begin to tremble as I realize his intentions, powerless to pull away from him. He pulls me closer as he finds it, the tears forming in his eyes to match my own.

"I wish I could make you happy, Querida." He whispers against my ear. My face presses closer to his chest, head snuggled under his chin. The Spanish pet name sends shivers across my back, comforting me greatly.

"You do," I reply, knowing my reassurance is futile. He'll blame himself and worry until I'm 100 percent myself again It's what he does, what he's always done. Eric's guilt is a path I have walked along many times before. Hagen's suicide, Speed's death, my numerous times in danger were all events Eric should have done more to prevent.

At least, in his guilty Catholic eyes.

He sits up suddenly, looking in my eyes for a moment with an intense, unreadable expression.

"You need to get out of here."

And I know what he means. Except for work, I've not left my apartment in over a week. I smile, nodding silently.

"Let me take you?" He asks, and just before I open my mouth to protest, I'm struck with a sudden urge to hug him. I want to go out, I want to smile, I want to spend time with someone. Him.

"OK, where?" The relief in his eyes is obvious and it makes me somewhat sad to see how happy I can make him just by agreeing to spend time with him.

"You choose."

* * *

I want it to be her choice. Recent events have caused her to lose the control she holds so tightly. I know how much she hates that. In letting her make the decision, I know I am giving her a little back and I can tell she's grateful, though she'll never acknowledge it.

I watch her ponder for a moment, eyebrows scrunched up in concentration, top lip caught between her teeth. It strikes me at odd times just how beautiful she is. The slight hint of vulnerability makes her eyes brighter than they usually are. I wish she'd let me see that more often. She's told me countless times that she trusts me, but she has never trusted me with the one thing I would do anything to protect. Her.

In my mind, things have been changing between us. People say sometimes a switch is flicked that makes you realize what's important to you. In my case, it was a bullet.

One shot to the head and all my confusion had gone right out of the window. Before, I didn't even know who I was; never mind what I was doing. After Speed's death, more girls filtered through my life than ever before; I don't remember most of them. But now? Now I know exactly what I want. Who I want.

I don't know if Calleigh has picked up on the sudden change, but the spark between us is apparently obvious, if you listened to Natalia and Valera. Those two are worse than old ladies, double-teaming me to find out all the dirt about Calleigh and me They seem determined to get us together. There is one main problem, though. And that problem comes in the form of Jake Berkley.

She seems genuinely happy. I can't tell if that's because she's with Jake or because she's with someone. Calleigh was lonely. She would never admit it but I can read Calleigh like a book. She'd played Jake's games before, she'd been through it all with him so part of me wondered if he was just a way to fight the loneliness. If so, she was going to hurt herself.

It's strange that after my little epiphany of sorts I'm seeing her for the first time. I mean, really seeing her.

But she's changed, too. Subtle changes. No longer does she try to hide her vulnerability from me; she doesn't try to mask her emotions when she's around me. If anything, she's going out of her way to let me know how she feels. Maybe it's my imagination, maybe it's wishful thinking, but I swear she is flirting with me more than usual. Her gazes are more intense, her touches more lingering. But I can't say anything because of that one little problem.

I wonder where Jake is. But I don't have to think about it for too long because I realize Jake will never be there when Calleigh needs him. Literally or metaphorically. The fact that she doesn't seem to be questioning it confirms my beliefs; this is nothing new.

Her voice stops my thoughts, "How about… Vogue?" She asks and I am surprised she chooses a club. I was expecting her to pick somewhere, I don't know, more down-beat. She must catch the question in my eyes because she immediately mummers, "I feel like getting lost in a crowd."

And suddenly, I want to hold her. Hold her tight and squeeze away all the hurt in her life. She's experienced more pain and anguish than any human should have to endure. I just want to make it all go away. But I can't hold her the way I want to. I have to settle for supporting her as a friend.

"Vogue it is," I reply, reaching out to touch her hair, rethinking my move and letting my hand drop before it reaches its target. I am sure I catch a hint of disappointment in her eyes.

But she smiles and looks away before I can analyze any further. "Just let me get changed."

"Oh, boy! Should I take a nap?" I joke, because it's the only thing I can do to get the moment back on safe ground. My joke pays off as a small smile graces her face and, after giving me a well-deserved elbow to the ribs, she disappears into the bedroom.

Only 20 minutes later, she emerges looking like an angel. Well, a very bad angel. A dark pencil skirt elongates her legs and a dark blue fitted shirt leaves little to the imagination. It's odd how she can have so much on and make it look like she's wearing nothing at all. She has pulled her hair down from her pony tail, falling in soft curls around her face. Her eyes are amazing, smoky eye shadow making the green even more intense. It was a toss-up between the eyes and the body that could tie my tongue in knots faster. The lips could do it, too. But all three thrown at me at once? A  
strangled sound came from the back of my throat. Great.

She simply smiles knowingly, holds out a hand for me to take and pulls me towards the door, grabbing her purse before we left.

* * *

The club is really busy. People milling about, dancing and laughing. I feel really out of place but am intent on having a good time with Eric. He was right; I need to get out more. Being with Jake is harder than I thought; he is making me feel lonelier than I was before. I don't remember it being like this last time we were together. But I've changed. He hasn't.

We dance for a while; he keeps catching my eye with nervous glances. It is strangely familiar, being in his arms. I can't remember the last time we hugged.

A few songs later, we extract ourselves from each other's arms. My mood has slipped again, my thoughts of Jake making me even more upset so Eric suggests a drink.

I stand at the bar whilst Eric orders drinks. Non-alcoholic. I don't feel like going down that road tonight. Alcohol has cause my family more problems than I care to think about.

My eye catches a young girl across the bar. She's smiling, flirting with the bartender who is slowly pouring honey into her vodka, clearly enjoying her attention more that he should, given his forty year seniority. I wonder what her life is like, if being so carefree about alcohol is doing her well. If the alcohol-induced confidence of tonight will be worth it tomorrow morning when she's turning out some guy and she's late for work with a hangover. I turn back to Eric and am immediately angry. All I can see in his eyes is pity.

"Eric, stop it." I say, rather coldly.

"Stop what?" His voice is a little higher than usual and I can tell he didn't know what he was doing.

"Stop feeling sorry for me." I am getting wound up; I am blaming him for everything. I want to stop but someone else has taken over my vocal chords. "Stop looking at me like I'm a victim. Like I need your help. Because I don't Eric, I don't need you." I am hitting his chest, punctuating my words with my frustration, ignorant of the small crowd that is now looking at us. He stands there and takes it, hands on my shoulders, trying to comfort me. I feel the tears, and let my head drop, trying to hide them from him.

He pulled me closer, cooing in my ear; I could barely hear him over the music. "It's Okay Calleigh." His voice has that tentative tone again. I'd frightened him; I've never lost it like that. I am just so frustrated. With my dad, with myself, with Jake. Where the hell was he anyway? He couldn't say he didn't know because he was with the arresting officer when he rang me. The bastard just didn't care. So why do I? I don't. I just don't want to be alone again.

* * *

I don't know what to do. She just lost it entirely. I really should have anticipated it. But with Calleigh, all the times she should have broken down, she retained that wall. It had finally fallen and, even after all the times I'd prayed for it to happen, I have never been so unprepared.

We've only been here an hour, but I find myself pulling her to the door and into a cab. So much for a night on the town. I knew I should have recommended somewhere more quiet. I watch her intently as we were driven home. I can see the guilt playing on her features, and that hurts me even more. She shouldn't feel guilty for being human.

Once at her block, I pay the driver and walk through her lobby and up to her apartment. It was a walk I had taken many times before and I find myself smiling at the familiarity.

She pauses, hand poised to unlock the door, and turns to me. "Eric, I'm sorry." Her voice was so riddled with guilt, I felt my heart crack a little more.

"It's okay."

She smiled, genuinely this time and glanced up at me again. She stepped closer, placing one hand on my hip, "Thank you," she says, softly. "I don't know what I would have done without you tonight."

The reverence and sincerity in her voice nearly floors me. God, how I love her. She's the only one who has stuck by me though everything; she has forgiven me more times than I deserve and there she was, apologizing for being human. I love her dedication and her willingness to believe I am a good man.

But mostly, I love her for standing by me when most would have run. I want to tell her all this. The straps around my heart are getting weaker by the second and if I don't do something, this torrent of emotion is going to come out faster than Niagara Falls.

I look at her, reaching a hand to trace her jaw, noting her shiver. My hand moves to the back of her neck and suddenly, our lips are millimeters apart. I can feel her hot breath on my lips, I can smell her perfume. All my senses are overcome by Calleigh.

Everything she is, I want. Everything I am, I want to give to her.

Her eyes glint, and I can see a little fear there. I find myself leaning closer and she doesn't pull away. If anything, she leans a little closer. In the background, I hear a faint click but I can't focus on anything but her.

"Calleigh?"

We both turn suddenly, breaking apart from our embrace.

"Jake!" Calleigh says, surprised, arms crossing in front of her. "What are you doing here?"

"I…" He looks towards me icily, "I just came over to see you, that OK?"

"Um, yeah." She turns to me again, but she doesn't say goodbye. She simply looks at me and, just when she is about to speak, Jake's voice breaks the moment. Again.

"Calleigh?" He questions, indicting his head into her apartment, encouraging her inside.

"Yeah," she calls, not breaking eye contact with me. "Goodnight, Eric." Her voice is quiet. She enters the through door, ignoring the daggers I was shooting Jake. She forces a smile and shuts the door.

I turn away; I couldn't look at that door, knowing they were together in there. I murmur a soft "Goodnight" to the empty air.

And with that, I leave.

* * *

_  
OK: I do have an idea for another chapter. But let me know what you thought of his one, if you can? Thanks._


	2. Chapter 2

_**Thanks:** To my wonderful beta: Irony882. A very talented writer and wonderful friend who is always willing to help me out. Granted, I can't see her rolling her eyes from over here. _

_**Dedication:** Once again to LemonGreen and to Jen for her birthday!! Hope you had a wonderful day! _

* * *

I drive to work feeling more like crap than ever. I think I got about 3 hours sleep last night and even then I was dreaming about them together. I switch on the radio, hoping to distract myself from my pathetic thoughts. The song filters though me, 'Sick Cycle Carousel' by Lifehouse, a song I have listened to countless times. A song I have always loved. '_So when will this end. It goes on and on'_. The words make me cringe inwardly, their truth touching me in a way no song has before. _'Sick cycle carousel. This is a sick cycle yeah.' _Yeah, it was damn sick. The games we played, the tight little dance, one step forward, two steps back. A cycle I was sick of riding.

Looking back, I think I rudely ignored each and every person who said good morning to me on my way to the break room. Highly inconsiderate. It wasn't their fault. I make a mental note to apologize to them. When Horatio gives me my case, I see the concerned look he shoots me; I must look awful because normally H doesn't notice.

Obviously trying to make me feel better, he pairs me with Calleigh; we usually work well and we always get along. Now though, now it's just going to be awkward.

I know what you're thinking; nothing happened. However, that's the thing with me and Calleigh: nothing needs to happen, and something has happened. One look or a slight touch says so much for us. It's the littlest things. Still, I set off, insisting to myself that this day would be fine. That I would get to the scene, I would take one room, Calleigh would take another, we'd collaborate on the evidence front then disappear off to la-la land. No problems.

Naturally, things were going to be a little different.

"Hey," I murmur softly as I spot Calleigh, already crouched down looking at a bullet hole. I'd arrived at the apartment only 15 minutes after leaving the lab, my sirens getting me through the traffic. She glances up and shoots me a small smile before returning her attention to the projectile. She looks tired, eyes swollen as though she had cried. I decide it is in my best interests not to point that out. So I try a different road, "What have we got?"

"Richard McCarran, 24, from Oconomowoc, Wisconsin. He'd only been here a week," she replies, casting her eyes towards the body bag Alexx is standing by. "Shot twice. First punctured his left lung, resting in his spinal cord. The second, a through and through. Went through his abdomen, landed here." She finally wrestles the lump of metal out of its hiding place. How she ever identifies weapons from blobs like that is beyond me.

"Poor guy. Next of kin?" I ask, thinking I should notify them.

"His son's being checked out. Frank's on the mother. You could help with DNA collections. There's a lot of blood here, it may not all be his."

"Yeah, okay," I agree, noticing she hasn't looked me in the eye since my arrival. Something is definitely wrong. I'd scared her last night. I'd pushed too far and now she was retreating.

As I leave the room, I notice a little boy talking to an EMT. I say talking, but the technician looked highly confused. I abandon my search of blood and walk over to the young child, wondering how he was coping after the trauma of his father's death.

"Hey, is he alright?" I ask the EMT, deciding it was best to make sure he was OK physically before asking him anything. I receive only a nod from the paramedic, who seems curiously pleased to be leaving the child with someone else. Maybe he isn't a 'kid person'. Personally, I love kids, but it is normally H who gets to handle them.

"How you holding up?" I ask the boy; he looks around four or five. He gives no answer, just continues playing with the toy pig he's clutching close to his heart.

"What's your name?" I try, hoping to get some sort of response.

"William," he squeaks and it's obvious he's been crying. My heart squeezes involuntarily. "This is Piggly Wig." He held up the toy pig and I was suddenly confused at the name.

"You mean Wiggly Pig?" I correct and he nods his brown head softly, after looking confused for only a second.

"Yeah, 'coz he wiggles." William demonstrates by shaking the toy, allowing me to see the pig's head wiggle. "My daddy gave him to me."

"Then he must be very precious. You keep him safe," I find my voice lowers, trying to soothe the boy as much as possible. It pains me to think of the heartache such young children have to go though.

William nods, looking up to me with big blue eyes and a small, shy smile. I want to say something supportive, but I don't know what will help. I don't have much time to consider it because social services want to take him. So I settle for a gentle pat on the shoulders only realizing after that it was such an 'adult' thing to do. That poor child will have to grow up so fast.

No one should have to lose their innocence that way.

* * *

How dare he be so nice to me? He'd crossed a line last night; oh, the questions I got of Jake. I suppose it is partly my fault. I mean, I wasn't pushing him away or anything and it did feel nice to spend time with him again. But I have a boyfriend; well, I'm supposed to have a boyfriend. I don't know what I'm thinking. Truthfully, I don't know why I'm being so snippy with Eric; I'm not too sure why I'm mad at him.

Everything is just too confusing. I have to get out. I wander to Eric though, finding him waving goodbye to a small boy before returning to his kit. He sends me a nervous smile before picking up a swab.

I ignore his attempt, knowing I'm acting like a bitch. "I'm gonna take these samples back to the lab. I need to run test fires. I'll take what evidence you have now and you can catch up with me later." I did not even wait to hear his approval; I simply gathered my things and left, well aware I left a confused and angry man in my wake.

Back at the lab, I set out my evidence, separating the ballistic from the hair and fiber and the DNA from the trace. I grab the DNA and head off to find Valera. I could use a giggle; I just hope she's not in gossip mode.

"Just look!"

"No, I've told you countless time that - "

"Guys?" I ask, causing both Ryan and Valera to turn and face me. I give a questioning look and Ryan simply wafted his hand in the air with raised eyebrows and turns away. I focus my attention on Valera.

"I was just showing Ryan the new pearl necklace Dave bought me," Valera says, looking a little ashamed to have been caught not working, even if it is me.

I crane my neck and step a little closer to get a better look. A row of striking pearls stand out against her pale skin; they look very expensive. "Val, they're beautiful."

Ryan slams his hand down on the table, making me jump. "And how many times have I told you it's bad luck for someone else to buy you pearls? I bet Dick didn't think of that, did he?"

"It's Dave," Valera counter-argued, a bitter tone to her voice, "and when was the last time you had a girlfriend you could buy jewelry for?"

"Well, I certainly didn't buy her pearls! Didn't he think of giving you the money so you could get them yourself?"

"Then technically he would still be buying them…"

"Why did Dan - "

"Dave!"

"Guys!" I finally cut in, handing a steaming Valera my samples, "I need this analyzed and I think you should head off to the scene; Eric could use a hand."

Ryan rolls his eyes at Valera before obeying my order and leaving in search of Eric.

"That man…" Valera fumes angrily, opening the sealed packets and studying the contents. "So, what's up with Eric?"

What? Okay, that caught me off guard. "What about Eric?" I ask, my voice a touch higher than normal.

"He seems pissed." She continues working as though it is perfectly normal to be asking me these questions. Well, I suppose it is.

"And what makes you think I'd know what's wrong with him?" I ask haughtily. I hate it when she's in her intuitive mood; nothing gets past her.

"Cal, you always know. You can read him like a book," she states, little tone to her voice as she snips off the ends of the swabs.

"I…well…" I want to disagree, but she's right. I always know when something is wrong with Eric.

I watch as she adds the fluids and places each tube into the amplifier. She is too engrossed in her work to notice my stammer. I tell her I have evidence to attend to.

It's not quite a lie.

I notice Eric's arrival immediately. I tense and an odd cringing sensation grips my stomach. He mumbles a 'hello' and gets right to work. I simply ignore him, not sure how I should handle my growing anxiety. A few moments of my silence are all it takes before he erupts.

"What the hell have I done wrong?" His voice is tense but I can tell his anger is directed more at himself then me. I shoot him a questioning look.

"To you, Calleigh? I've clearly done something to upset you and I want to know what it is." His eyes are back on mine, voice an octave lower as he fights to maintain his control. His anger is evident but the worry and fear burns deep beneath the surface.

"Eric - " I start, only to be cut off by his voice. It terrifies me that he sounds close to tears.

"What have I done, Calleigh? If I ruined … or if I… upset… I'm sorry… I," He speaks softly, all energy gone as he gives up on his speech. He lowers his head, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

My response is innate and I am around the table, hands reaching for his before I even have time to process it. My voice is merely above a whisper as I try to support him, "No, Eric. You haven't done anything. I'm just… in a strange mood, that's all. I'll be fine tomorrow."

I see his flinch at that. He hates it when I say 'I'm fine'. His smile returns suddenly, but he doesn't fool me; I sense the concern coming off him in waves as he pulls me into a tight hug. Normally, I wouldn't allow such a display at work but the fact that I am in a windowless office and I'm with Eric calms me slightly, so I snuggle further into his embrace, intent on making all his hurt go away. It wasn't his fault I was in a snippy mood. It wasn't his fault I was fighting with Jake. Not directly.

I wrap my arms around him, resting my hands on his hips and pressing my face to his chest. I am surprised how much I enjoy this contact, but it disconcerts me when I hear a soft moan. I pull back in alarm, glancing up to see his eyes closed and his top lip pulled beneath his teeth. I should be scared, I should be telling him he's out of order for acting like that around his friend, but someone else seems to have taken over my hands because I'm reaching up to wrestle his lip out with my thumb.

His eyes shoot open, wide with the shock of my actions. They lock with mine, and my world stops.

Black, deep, dilated pupils stare back at me and suddenly I get lost in them, blinking slowly as though clearing a fog. The moment my fingers left his lip, grazing it slightly before traveling across his jaw to rest on the back of his neck, a low, deep groan surfaces from the back of his throat.

And suddenly I'm lost, lost in these feelings. A daze of euphoria in which I have no concept of reality. It's just him and me. His eyes close once again, opening to rest on mine. He moves slowly, painfully slowly, eyes flickering to my lips to warn me of his intentions. To give me a chance to push him away. And I should, I should push him away because I can't cross that line in the sand. I have to cement it down and re-draw it over and over as each and every time, it blows away.

I can't seem to fight, can't seem to tell him no. His lips move against mine in a silent prayer, not quite demanding, but forceful enough to let me know it won't be enough. Plump lips massage my own, encouraging me onwards in this desperate battle of desire. He wants me to want it, he doesn't want to force me, and suddenly, all rational thoughts go out of the widow as his tongue gently trails along my lip.

I can't take it. Pressing my mouth furiously against his, I step closer, my hand around his neck pulling him down. I stand up on my tiptoes, moving closer to him. Angling my head for the tightest embrace, I elicit a moan, which I soon realize comes from me, as I urge him to respond to my violent intrusion.

And suddenly, he springs to life. Pushing me hard against the wall as one hand reaches to grip my wrists, preventing me from touching him. His body presses against mine until we are fused, from knees to mouth, my hands above my head where he holds them fixed. I moan again at this loss of control and whimper slightly as his free hand grazes my hip.

The slight pain in my shoulders jerks me back to reality. God, we're in the lab. We're at work. Words jumble though my mind as my brain furiously tries to make sense of them. Work. Lab. Eric. Jake. Lab. Eric. Work. Jake. Stop!

I yank my hands free, pushing hard against his chest until he steps back, panting hard. He stares me in the eyes, seeing the fear and anger I know will be present. He opens his mouth to speak but I shake my head, more to myself than to him, yet he closes his mouth anyway.

I feel tears filling my eyes, the embarrassment and shame at my loss of control overwhelms me and I nearly run towards the exit. I have to get away from him. How the hell could I do something so stupid? I ignore his calls and pleas for me to return. I can't look at him again.

I walk into the bathroom, and let the silent tears fall.

* * *

_**E/N:**_

_OK, LemonGreen gave me the elements:_

_1. 'Sick Cycle Carousel' by Lifehouse - check_

_2. Oconomowoc, Wisconsin - check_

_3. A spoonerism - check_

_4. Eric interacting with a child - check_

_5. Pearls - check_

_As for you fine people: I like reviews. And I like you if I get reviews. And If I like you, I update :) Hehe._


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks to SpeedsDaughter fro helping me with the translations and to Irony882 for being a wonderful editor! _

Crap. I messed up big time. She was vulnerable; I shouldn't have let that happen. I beg, call down the corridor for her to return. She ignores me, continuing on until the bathroom door shuts behind her. I contemplate following her, but assume I'd get a bullet to the head (or a much more sensitive part of my anatomy) if I even try.

I'm standing outside, waiting for her to emerge when Horatio appears at my side. He stares at me a moment, and I realize how odd it must look; me, standing silently, begging internally for the bathroom door to open.

"Eric, I need you to talk to the victim's wife; she's just arrived," he orders, glancing at me once more before he turns, and retreats back down the corridor.

I don't want to. I don't want to leave; if I let this go now, we may not be able to salvage our relationship. I leave anyway; I can't ignore orders. This will have to wait; there's a killer out there somewhere.

I glance over the woman for a moment before I enter the interrogation room. She has that 'school teacher' look about her: long red hair pulled into a bun at the back of her head, small strands falling to soften her angular features. Bright blue eyes stand out against her pale skin. She has that classic foreign beauty about her, natural and mysterious.

"Mrs. McCarran?" I say, stepping into the room, "I'm Eric Delko with the crime lab, I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," she replied, a strong Russian accent coming through. She pauses for a moment, before shaking her head softly, as though to clear it. "It's Larissa Tarasov; we're divorced."

"You're Russian?" I ask, not really knowing why it's relevant.

"Da, why?"

"No reason," I smile, trying to cover my awkward question, "I'm sorry to have to ask you this, but do you know of anyone who would want to hurt Richard?"

"No, no-one at all. He was always so caring to everyone." She must catch my confused look, because she continues, "Our separation was a mutual decision, Mr. Delko. Sometimes, some people are simply better as friends. Luckily, we could return to that."

"Where were you yesterday?"

"Wisconsin," she replies, an indignant tone to her voice, "Same place I've been for the last four years."

"Okay, spacibo," I thank her in her mother tongue. I don't think she killed her husband, but I will have Frank cooberate her story.

"I need to be with my son," she states, little tone to her voice until she glances up, blue eyes shining with tears, "Pozhalujsta."

"Of course, I'll get someone to take you to him," I reply, heart feeling weak as her pleas reach my ears.

"Thank you," she rises, and walks towards the door where the patrol officer waits. I inform him of the situation and hand him the address of the social services office taking care of William.

"Moi mysli - s Vami," I say. I somehow feel if she knows I'm thinking of her, she'll take some comfort with her. She nods, picks up her bag and returns to her son.

I return to ballistics, hoping to find both Calleigh and a lead. She's sitting, eyes pressed against a microscope, fingers twirling the focus to find her striations. 

"Hey," I say softly, causing her head to shoot up suddenly.

"What do you need?" she asks, voice totally professional, cold almost.

"Do you, um, have a lead?"

"Yeah, I ran the bullets through AFIS and came up with a match. Gun is registered to George Jenson; his family owns a café near the pier." She hands me a printout, avoiding all contact, physical or otherwise.

I scan over it, noting the address, "You coming?"

"No, you go ahead. I have some things to do,"

"Like hell you do," I say, loosing my cool. She's so damn annoying with her detachment and isolation. I wish she'd just tell me what she thought.

"What's your problem, Delko?" Ouch, the last name card, she's pissed. Well, so am I.

"My problem? Calleigh, you can't just ignore what happened. At least talk to me…"

"There's nothing for us to talk about. It was just a kiss. Let it go."

Just a kiss. My God, that hurt. I feel my lips pull back as my face contorts into a grimace. She must notice, or sense my pain because she turns, looks me directly in the eye and apologizes.

"Eric, I'm sorry…"

"Forget it," I say, emotion chocking my voice. I turn, this time I'm the one leaving her alone, and set off in search of the café.

-

Karma. It's irritating sometimes. I don't know why I said that, I just needed a way to distance myself from him. I'm still reeling that he kissed me. We're supposed to be working together. But it felt so good. 

Regardless, I follow him, catching up just as he steps into the Hummer. I clamber into the passenger side, fearful that if I'm not fast enough, he'll drive off without me. I try to make conversation, but my attempts fall on deaf ears. I've hurt him big time. Why does everything we do have to be so damn complicated? Why can't we ever just say what we mean? I'm tired of this fear. 

Once at the café, Eric's gentlemanly attributes don't escape him (despite his anger at me) and he waits, letting me reach his side before we entered the busy building together.

I glance round. Bright colors coat the walls, yellows and blues, creating a typical beach feeling that is so 'touristy' it hurts my eyes. Black and white photos adorn the walls, a family gathered around a haystack, a woman and a dog nestled under a duvet and children playing outside an old café. I read the inscription: 'Jenson's Café - Iowa 1956'. The branch must be a family business, I decide.

We approach the counter and I unclip my holster, just in case. Eric speaks, asking to see George Jenson, and the young waitress around the back of the counter looks confused for a moment, before retreating into the backroom. We share a glance. I notice Eric step closer to the back, evidently preparing in case he ran.

George appears in front of the young woman, wiping his hands on a dishtowel.

"Can I help you folks?" he asks, a Mid-Western accent coloring his speech. He's a lean man, not overly muscular, with long dark hair pulled into elastic at the base of his neck.

"MDPD, we need to talk to you, sir." Eric's tone leaves no room for arguments. Mr. Jenson glances towards his customers for a moment, before indicating to the back room with his head.

"Sure, come with me." He leads us past a bustling kitchen and storage room before opening a door to a cramped, windowless room. "Sit down," he says, pointing to a dusty couch littered with papers. Once seated on an armchair, he speaks again, "What's this about?"

"Do you own a gun, Mr. Jenson?" I ask, ignoring his question.

"Yeah, why?"

"We have evidence to suggest that your weapon was used in a murder yesterday morning."

"My gun? No way; it's not been out of the house since I bought it," he explains, looking genuinely confused.

"Does anyone else have access to it?" Eric clarifies.

"Well, it's not hidden. But I guess only family will know where it's kept," George says, standing up and moving towards a cage in the corner of the room. "I keep it up here; little 'uns can't get to it, you see." He opens the cage door, reaching his hand in beside the parrot who suddenly woke up. 

A loud 'schwark' fills the room, followed by what can only be described as laughter as the bird pecks hard at George's hand.

"Son of a…" George yells, pulling the gun out quickly. "Damn thing just loves to hurt me." He hands me the gun and I place it, with gloved hands, into a clear evidence bag to be processed back at the lab.

"Thank you, sir," Eric smiles, "Don't go anywhere until this matter has been cleared up, okay?" He receives only a nod and a grunt in response. I make a mental note to have Frank check up on the family.

We leave then, unsure as to where our new lead will take us. Once seated in the Hummer, Eric turns to me.

"Calleigh, we need to talk." His voice holds reverence, a tentative quality I'm not used to associating with Eric. I glance out of the window, watching the sunset peacefully. I hadn't realized it was so late.

"Yeah," I state reluctantly. I hate this. I hate the whole dance, treading on each other's toes, trying to move in perfect symmetry. But we don't talk, don't communicate. Things happen and we ignore it, trying to carry on dancing when we can barely walk together anymore. 

"Dinner?" he offers, and I know what he's doing. He's trying to bring us onto neutral territory, a place where we won't get defensive and retreat. A place we can talk. I simply nod, knowing deep down my non-verbal response is a defense mechanism. I didn't agree to anything. Not really.

I know where he's taking us as soon as he hits South Dixie Highway; it's been such a long day I actually don't care that he's taking me to a rather expensive restaurant. I wonder why he's brought us here. The Chipotle restaurants had been 'our' restaurants for many years. We used to go after long, arduous days for a meal, or just a snack. It will always be a place of happy memories.

Eric closing the Hummer door jerks me from my daydream; I'm out of it long enough for him to walk round and open mine for me. I smile at his chivalrous behavior and follow him to the door.

It's surprisingly quiet and we easily get a table. After drinks and burritos are ordered, Eric looks at me, eyes awash with emotions as he tries to decide what to say.

"Cal…" He looks down, eyebrows scrunched with concentration.

"I know," I reassure, grasping his hand in mine as I make a conscious decision to break my silence. 

_AN: This was ridiculously hard to write, hence the long wait. LemonGreen gave me:_

_A Duvet - check_

_Chipotle restaurant - check_

_A vicious parrot - check_

_Eric speaking Russian - check_

_A family from Iowa - check. _

_Please let me know what you think. _


	4. Chapter 4

_AN: Yeah, it's late. But it's long so… Un-beta-ed for the moment, so all mistakes are mine.

* * *

_

I smile internally at her sigh. Reluctantly or not, she was going to talk to me. Communication has been strained between us lately, but I cannot push her too hard, or she will retreat father back into herself.

I guess it was a little irresponsible of me to just kiss her like I did, but I couldn't help it. Her bright eyes flashing furiously, plump lips pouted in irritation; she was irresistible.

She smiles sadly, griping my hand in hers like a vice. I squeeze back, needing the support just as much as she did. I watch her intently as she glances out of the window, taking a deep breath before turning her eyes back to mine, letting the air out through puffed cheeks.

"This is harder than I thought it would be," she says, quietly. He hand leaves mine, joining the other under the table. She looks curiously vulnerable sitting there, the low candle light making her vivid eyes glint a startling color.

"Yeah," I reply, knowing exactly what she's up to. She wants me to say it's okay, to say it's fine and we can drop it. But I cannot let this go.

"I know what I want to say, but I don't know how to say it," she blurts, honestly and I am floored by the distress in her voice. I've only heard that tone a few times before; when Speed died, when she was almost killed. I'm not sure what I want her to say myself; everything is so complex with us. We either take a risk on out friendship, or try to forget about what happened, and risk entering that awkward stage from which we can never escape.

"Why don't you just talk? See what comes out," I offer, hoping to provoke a response that isn't a riddle.

She sighed again, glancing outside as she mulls over my recommendation. I fight back my frustration, reminding myself of why she finds it so difficult to talk like this, why she finds it so difficult to trust. Regardless of our friendship, this will be a long and drawn out process. I can't get annoyed and snap at her slow pace, or she'll never talk to me. Ironically, it seems to be when we argue, we talk more. Things come out in the heat of the moment that she can't ignore.

"I just find everything so difficult," she blurts, a strange, unnatural waver to her voice. Her fear is invariantly obvious and I want to offer comfort but I fear that, if I speak, I'll break what ever spell has got her talking. So I nod, opting for silence.

"I broke up with Jake," she states, and surprisingly, I'm not surprised. I'd seen it coming, seen her slowly getting tired of the repetitive arguments and accusations. She must be shocked at my lack of surprise, because she gives me a puzzled look. "You're not…"

"Contary to what you may think, Cal. I can read you like a book." I smile sadly, knowing just how true that statement was. I had catalogued every one of her moves and expressions from over the years, but she was currently wearing one I had never seen before. "I knew you weren't happy."

She nods softly. I wouldn't have noticed it if I wasn't watching her like a hawk; her moves are barely discernable. I sense her fear, now more then ever. She knows I'm close to breaking her walls. We're silent a moment longer, the only noise from the bustle of the restaurant; the clink of cutlery against china and the soft murmur of speech and laughter.

Suddenly, her hands clasp together, her head shoots up and her eyes lock forcefully with mine. But she speaks in a soft, tentative tone, a stark contrast to her outer appearance. "You kissed me," she states.

"Yeah," I agree, not really too sure what she is getting at. "And you kissed me."

"Why?" she asks, ignoring my last statement.

"Why, what?"

"Why'd you kiss me?"

"You're asking me why I kissed you?" I confirm, incredulity coloring my voice. "Isn't is obvious?"

Apparently, it's not because she tilts her head, furrowing her eyebrows in a question. I figure her silence is an urge for me to continue, so I utter the only response I'm brave enough to give. "Because I wanted to."

She's quiet again, mulling over my answer. "So… It was - It was an impulsive thing?" She pauses, "You were bored."

"Hey, you're the one who said it was 'just a kiss', Calleigh," I spit out, bitterly, regretting my harsh tone immediately as I see her eyes fall. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that."

"It's okay," comes her small response.

"No, it's not," I say, running my hand over my face in irritation taking a moment to gather my nerve. I have to tell her the truth, I owe her that much. "Everything's messed up Calleigh, and I really don't know what to say. I - I want to say the, um, the right thing. But I don't know what that is." I catch her eye, holding her gaze, "I didn't know what to say, because I don't know what words will describe why I wanted to kiss you. I didn't - I don't think they'll explain how much I wanted to."

Her face softens, her shoulders visibly relaxing. "Eric -" she starts, only to be cut of by the arrival of our food. I take a moment to study the waiter, needing to see another face in front of my eyes than hers, to put my mind straight again. I can get lost in Calleigh sometimes, but I can't right now. I have to stay focused. He has that 'Josh Duhamel' look about him, ruffled dark hair and striking eyes. Striking eyes that are currently surveying Calleigh's cleavage as she, oblivious to her new admirer, moves cutlery out of the way to make room for the plates.

I feel a spark of jealousy and I don't even bother trying to tell myself it's irrational, I passed that mark along time ago.

He leaves, shooting Calleigh a smug over the shoulder smile which she politely returns, allowing her eyes to remain on him for only a second before they return to mine. I am taken aback by the new confidence I see in them. Apparently, letting her know I don't regret the kiss makes her happy.

She picks up her fork, picking at a small piece of meat before raising her it to her mouth. She chews softly, eyes never leaving mine, before swallowing. "Eric, what's happening here?" she finally asks.

"Here?"

"Yeah, here. Us," she clarifies, eyes still fixated on mine, fork suspended in the air.

"Well that depends on what you want," I say. "On how you want this to go."

"Why does the ball have to be in my court?" she asks, before throwing another sports metaphor at me. "Why do I have to step up?"

"So I don't feel like I've forced it. So you can't say I did."

"I wouldn't, I -"

"But you would," I counter. "You would, and that's okay. It's who you are Cal, the moment you lose control your defenses go up and you back away."

She contemplates that as we eat silently for a moment, throwing nervous glances at each other. "I don't mean to," she states, a little defensively and I smile, grabbing her hand as I do so. "I get scared." There's a note of fear behind her voice, hidden by a sarcastic chuckle.

"I know," I reply. I know she'll never ask for what she wants, or give any indication of it. I make a choice. If I can tell her exactly what I feel, she can make the decision on the next step. "I know what I want, too."

My hesitant tone catches her attention, and her body tenses. "What?" she asks.

"I want to stop playing these games. I want to stop pretending. I want you to know what I feel for you."

She remains silent, and, although I have no verbal imploration to continue, her eyes urge me on. "I like you Calleigh, a lot. A lot, a lot, a lot," I chuckle sarcastically, hiding my worry. I let my eyes find hers, sincerity overcoming me, "And I'm not gonna hide it anymore."

Her cheeks flush, her head drops and she takes deep breaths. If I didn't know her, I'd worry she had taken ill. "Calleigh?" I ask, needing confirmation that she had actually heard me.

"You - You like, me?" she asks, slowly and I can't help the laugh that escapes me. For someone so smart, she can be as think as a tree-stump sometimes.

"Yeah, Calleigh. But you knew that."

"No, I - I thought it was just, I don't know. A little, a little thing you wouldn't want to act on."

"Well, you can lose that idea." She smiles, placing her fork down. I've not finished, but my appetite has left me, so I follow suit. "Wanna get out of here?" I ask, not wanting to seem too forceful. She nods a little and I signal for the waiter.

She reaches for her purse as he arrives, but I'm faster, placing the bills down inside the black cover.

"You paid last time," she complains, as normally we alternate payments.

"Yeah, but I think tonight's a little different." I smile at her, signaling with my head towards the door. We raise, Calleigh stealing two mints from the counter as we left the restaurant. She handed me one as we got into the hummer, and I drove in the direction of her apartment.

* * *

"You want some tea?" I call over my shoulder, entering the kitchen as Eric takes a seat on my couch. He shakes his head, I should have known. "Coffee? Hot cocoa?"

"Coffee please," he says, chuckling at me softly, though I'm not sure why. I wait for the water to boil, placing coffee in one cup and cocoa in another. I wander into the living room, staring at Eric for a moment. He's reclined on my couch, one leg brought up to rest on the cushions. It seems like yesterday he was here, sleeping softly, back when things were simpler. The kettle whistles, catching my attention.

I pour in the water, adding two giant marshmallows to my cup of cocoa. Dropping the spoons into the sink, I carry them both into the living room, placing mine on the coffee table, and handing Eric's to him. "Can I get you anything else?" I ask, and it's almost habit, my need to make everyone happy in my home.

"No, thanks Cal. Just sit down."

I do. On the rocking chair, as far away from him as I can. Subconsciously or not, I can't help it. I catch his eye roll and my head drops.

"So, is this how it's gonna be?" he asks, a pitiful tone to his husky voice. It's late now, and he's probably tired.

"What do you mean?" I reply, already knowing the answer.

"Me over here; you over there." And I know he's not talking about our seating arrangements. It's the awkwardness that has descended upon us; something I feared would happen regardless of my actions.

"I don't want it to be," I say, eyes meeting his as I pick up my cup, stabbing the marshmallow away with my tongue so I can drink the hot fluid. The scorching liquid hurts my lips, and the pain is a welcome relief from his intense gaze.

"It doesn't have to be."

God, I'm tired. Of these games, these cryptic phrases being throw around. I want a straight answer to all the questions I was to ask him, I'm so damn tired of this whole charade. "What do you want from me, Eric?"

"I want you to be happy," he admits, and I can hear the honesty in is voice. But that's not an answer, not in my eyes. I want to know exactly what he's thinking so I can make the right moves. I realize suddenly, how selfish that is. He shouldn't be the only one to put himself on the line.

"I want… I don't know if -If I can say -." My sentences are fragmented, I don't know if I can say what he wants me to say, what I want to say. I think he realizes this because he stands up, causing me to jump, takes my cup from my burning fingers and sets it back on the table. I panic for a moment, when he kneels down between my legs, pulling me closer with my hands. "Eric?" I start, only to be cut off by his fingers on my lips. I get the idea, he wants to talk.

"Calleigh, I'm gonna ask you this, I'm gonna take a risk… and I want a straight answer. No more game playing. Okay?" he asks, and I nod a little, scared to open my mouth. He crawls closer, his hands moving to my head, fingers threading through my hair.

My eyes shut slowly, breathing labored. He waits for me to open them again, his soulful brown eyes locking with mine. "Calleigh, do you want to be with me?" He pauses, gauging my reaction. Aside from my pounding heart, I must not move because he continues. " Do you wanna, be the one? The one I love, the one I care about, the one I'd do anything in the world to protect? Do you wanna be… my one?"

I don't fight the light tears that spring to my eyes, threatening to spill over as I shut my eyes tight again. I nod slightly, but that's not enough. His fingers find my chin, forcing my head up to him. His eyes bore holes in mine, and I know he wants an answer. His lips are centimeters from mine; one of his hands is hot from my cup, the other still cool from the air outside. The combination of contrasting temperatures is in itself too much, but the way his hands brush my neck makes me struggle to breath.

I can't fight him, I don't want to. My hands lock around his wrists, and I speak so quietly he has to move closer to hear me. "Yes," I state simply, and his eyes question me. Am I sure? I smile, leaning forward to kiss his forehead gently. "Yeah, I'm sure. I want to be with you. I don't want to be scared anymore," I say in a small voice.

His eyes show pure elation, but he doesn't smile. His forehead rests on mine, his hot breath cascading over my lips as he speaks, distracting me greatly. "This can't be a small thing, Calleigh. I can't do that to either of us." He glances down, again waiting for my eyes to open before continuing. "I need to know that you're gonna put into this, that you're not gonna pull way from me." He moves his head off mine, gripping the sides of my face, a look of dogged determination across his features. "Cal, I need to know; if you could give me your heart."

Blinking back tears at the desperation in his voice, I pull my head back. "I can't…" I start, and his head falls. My heart squeezes involuntarily at the pain on his face. "I can't give you my heart… because it's not mine to give."

He looks at me, confused. "Know where my heart is?" His hand reaches up, fingers trailing feather light around my left breast. I smile sadly at his naivety, pulling his hand gently away from my chest. "Nope…" Another look of dazed confusion. I open his hand, palm upwards, and let my index finger dance around his palm. I whisper, "It's right hear; in the palm of your hand…And I'm begging you… please," I let a lone tear trickle down my face as I squeeze his hand tighter, "Please, don't break it."

He pulls me to him, cradling my head against his chest. "I promise," he mummers softly against my hair. And I believe him. I've spent my life dealing with the magnitude of empty promises and lies but, somehow, in the pit of my heart, I believe everything this man says. I pull away from his embrace, and he looks scared suddenly. I smile, gesturing that we should move to the couch, the rocking chair feels hard and unyielding against my back.

I pull the wool blanket down off the top of the couch and drape it over us. It's not cold, but I need to feel close to him. I bite down at the panic I feel rise up, I'm so scared, I could so easily get lost in him. I'm not used to needing someone this much, to feeling like I'd die if they walked away. It terrifies me.

He pulls me closer again, seemingly feeling the same need for closeness as I do. As my eyes flutter shut, I hear him take one deep resolute breath and whisper a final, "I promise" into my hair. With that renewed vow, we fall asleep, content to lie, at least for tonight, safe in each other's arms.

* * *

_AN: Elements:_

_A rocking chair - check_

_Two giant marshmallows - check_

_Josh Duhamel - check_

_I don't think I did as well with this chapter, I found it really hard to write, what do you guys think? Should I continue? Oh, and 10 points to whoever gets the gazillion X-Files references. _


	5. Chapter 5

_AN: Well, we've come to the end of out journey with this one. I'd like to extend a special thank you to all who have reviewed, to Irony882 and especially to LemonGreen. If it weren't for Jacks, I'd still be stuck in the rut of writers block. _

_My elements were: _

_A game of Euchre - check_

_A romantic/tender moment - check (I think, let me know)_

_Unsharpened pencils - check_

_/---/_

"Eric," Horatio's voice bellows down the hallway. I flinch, already knowing I'm late. "Frank's looked into the Jenson family. George's son has priors for breaking and entering and a few assault charges." He paused, clipping his sunglasses to his pocket. "He could be our guy."

"Want me to talk to him?" I ask, relief flooding my body. At least I wasn't in trouble.

"No. Not yet. We need to go in there with all our ducks in a row. Talk to Calleigh, find out if the gun you found is a match to the ammo that killed our Vic."

"Sure," I reply and he glances to me once, puling him glasses off his shirt before pressing the button for the elevator. I sigh, turning in the direction of the firearms lab.

I pause at the door, drinking in the sight of her. We'd had no talks of rules last night, but I knew where we stood. We had to keep what ever it was with us out of work. Period. No questions. It's hard though, especially when she's looking as irresistible as she is now. I don't even know what it is. That slight tiredness showing through, lips pursed in concentration as her delicate hand hovers over the paper. I watch as she sighs, puts down the blunt pencil she had been sketching with and picks up another, groaning lightly as she found that one blunt too.

I take that as my cue to enter, producing a sharp pencil for her to use. She smiles her thanks, grabbing it, eyes flicking to my lips before she turns and carries on with her work. She can be such a tease sometimes. And I love it.

"Find a match on that gun?" I ask, walking round to the other side of her, hand grazing lightly across her back. I continue before her admonishing comment can leave her lips. "We've got him in custody."

"Yeah, I have a match. Take a look." She moves towards the microscope, switching on the linkup to the projector screen to show striations that mean absolutely nothing to me. I nod anyway, pretending to listen to her words rather then stare at her, watching her eyes light up with excitement. It was a trick I had learnt long ago, back when openly starting would have been highly inappropriate and probably would have resulted in a hard punch from one of her boyfriends.

"Shall we, Eric?" she asks, and I glance back, baffled. Shall we what? Her eyes light with amusement and she knows I've not been listening. I nod anyway, trying to salvage myself. "Let's go." She picks up a couple of files and walks out of the room, almost cockily, knowing I'll follow close behind.

We meet Frank almost immediately after stepping out of the elevator. He walks over, a slight stagger showing his authority. He nods a welcome, turning to Calleigh. "Good find with that gun," he says, and she smiles back.

"Where'd you find him?" she asks as we begin walking to the interview room.

"PD spotted him going into a bar near the water. Guy was in the middle of a game of Euchre when we picked him up. Had the winning hand, too. Shame." Frank chuckled, accent strong.

"Yeah, real shame," I say, watching her enter the interview room. I take the file off Frank, and move to join her.

"So, what happened? You went in to steal some things and, what? He surprised you?" she asks, leaning closer to him, a light breeze blowing a waft of her perfume my way.

"He wasn't supposed to be there," Peter Jenson said. "He just came outta nowhere!"

"So you shot him?"

"It was an accident."

"Twice…"

"It was an accident," he repeated, head in his hands. "The gun just went off."

"A 22. doesn't just 'go off', Mr. Jenson. Wanna try that again?" She's defensive, I can tell. Her accent has intensified slightly, her muscles tense; things only I notice.

"I didn't mean to pull the trigger; he wasn't supposed to be there."

"It doesn't matter. You took that gun to the scene with the intention of using it if you had to. That's premeditation, and that's murder."

"I didn't mean to kill him."

"That's up to the judge to decide," Calleigh replies, signaling for the patrol cop to take him away.

"He broke that family," she said softly, eyes downcast. "That little boy will never see his father again, and it's just -" She stopped, glancing to me a little. "It's not fair, you know."

I nod, knowing exactly what she means. My hand brushes her arm gently, but I don't push her too far, knowing how much she hates to feel vulnerable. "I'm gonna talk to his widow," I say, hoping I can offer some form of support to both of them. She smiles, letting me go with a small wave.

/---/

He speaks to the victims' wife as I pack up the last of the evidence. I mark the box 'CLOSED' and hand it to Claudia for storage, ready to be unearthed once the case goes to trial. Feeling suitably satisfied with our work, I return to the lab to finish up on some paper work. As usual, though, my mind drifts elsewhere.

He'd shared my bed last night, not in that way, we'd simply cuddled. It was nice. Strangely nice. I'd woken about midnight, totally lost until I realized where I was. I wasn't used to falling asleep on my couch; it was oddly unsettling.

I hated to have to wake him, he looked so relaxed lying there, that I didn't want to rouse him. Nevertheless, I was getting a sore neck, and I knew he must have been too. He looked so peaceful though, his head burred in my neck, my hair hiding much of his face from my sight. His arms were tight around my waist, despite his deep slumber.

He'd smiled as his eyes had opened, locking with mine. I didn't say anything, words would have broken the spell around us I think, and grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet, blanket conveniently falling to the floor. As we approached the door, his lips had descended onto mine, a soft, sloppy brush across my lips in a sleepy kiss. It had felt completely normal, taking him into my bedroom, stripping to my underwear and pulling on the large shirt he had removed to hide my self-consciousness.

He had held me so close, warm hands running up and down my back as I breathed him in. I heard him sigh contentedly, nose once again buried in my hair, deeply inhaling a smell that he seemed to like because, moments later, his breath evened out. I placed a kiss to his chest, feeling only safe in his embrace as he lulled me into unconsciousness.

I think we both expected awkwardness the next day, instead, we found only normality, familiarity, almost. Him making coffee as I showered; me ironing a shirt he'd left long ago as he copied. I was assaulted with light kisses at the door. They were soft, hesitant, and I know he didn't want to push his luck, but I wanted more. We had to leave though, and before I could push it too far, he had pulled away. The 'what ifs' were still playing on my mind, still are if I'm honest, but he was showing me his honesty in so many little ways His hand finding the small of my back as we walked. It sends tingles up and down my spine just thinking about it.

We still need to talk, I know that. He knows that. We need to come to some sort of agreement as to what we are. I don't know if this is a serious thing or something small. Despite our conversation last night, I'm still unsure. I wait for him now, knowing Horatio wouldn't give us another case so soon after finishing this one. I'm sad almost; I think part of me wants to prolong the inevitable, put off the conversation that could potentially break my heart.

The rules. One thing I have to get straightened out and I know he isn't going to like that. Eric hated being told he couldn't do something. Maybe I am doing it out of self-protection, maybe I am scared of what could happen, but I need some rules in place. Rules give guidelines, let me know what to expect. Eric knew, I could tell, he knew why I needed these rules in place and, I'm sure, he intended to break every single one at some point. But that was on him, not me.

His hand on my arm startles me and I drop the piece of paper I'm holding. "You okay?" he asks, sounding concerned, probably because I normally don't go around dropping paper. I smile, picking up the sheet and returning it to my desk. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah," I reply, jumping up and grabbing my bag. I know my moves are jerky, but I'm nervous. I don't know why, Eric pretty much told me he was on board with whatever I wanted last night. But the possibility of him saying what I'd normally say, 'this is too hard', still weighs down on me. I've had relationships fall apart in the past because of my fluctuating openness. Some days, I'm very open. Emotionally, I'm vulnerable, but I'm not afraid to let people see me for who I am. I'm not afraid to let someone hold me. But other days, I go though periods of not even wanting people to be near me. It's driven men away; they'd become bored of my 'game playing' and decided they could do better. They probably could.

I think Eric knows me well enough, to be honest. I don't think he'd turn away from me because of my fears. He understands me better then most, better than I do myself and he has this uncanny ability to know when I need time alone. And he always comes back at just the right moments.

We walk to our cars, deciding he'd come to mine once he'd gone home and changed. He glances around the empty parking lot, exaggeratedly before leaning down and planting a soft kiss to my lips. I smile, returning to my car, waving as I drive off leaving him to leave after me.

Once at home, I shower and change, washing the days events from my body. It was a hard case, always is when it involves children. At least this one wasn't dead. But he'd never get his father back; few understand what it's like to grow up without parents. I didn't, though I'd selfishly whished for it countless times.

The doorbell rings suddenly, and I quickly shut off the shower, sighing. It couldn't be Eric, no one gets ready that fast. Not even a man. Pulling on my robe, I open the door a crack, revealing a spotty young teenager clutching a giant white box. "Can I help you?"

"Are you Miss Du-ques-nee?" he asks and I nod, ignoring the way he butchered my last name. "I got a delivery for you." He pushed glasses up his nose, and held up a clipboard. "You gotta sign."

I open the door fully now, reaching for the pen and paper before signing my name. I hand them back, suppressing a giggle at the bright red hue that has colored the teenagers face. I grab the box out of his hand, using it to cover as much of my barley covered body as possible, as I thank him.

Placing it on the table, I open the box, tugging off the red string. My eyes widen with shock as a dozen red roses peek out at me from behind tissue paper. Was this the romantic side of Eric I had not yet seen? I scramble around inside the box, searching for a note, feeling a twinge of disappointment when I find nothing but paper.

I feel a light blush cover my face when I realize my disappointment is irrational, the note is attached to one of the roses. I open the tiny card, my heart squeezing at the message inside: _To celebrate losing our fears. All my love, Eric. x_

_/---/_

"Cal?" I call, as I push open the door. She'd buzzed me in only moments earlier, and I find it strange that she isn't at the door when I knocked. I find it even stranger that her door is open. Stepping in, I see the roses I'd had delivered sitting in a vase on the table, the light smell had wafted around the room and I can detect its delicate scent mixing with the slightly fruity fragrance of Calleigh's home.

"Cal?" I call again, jumping a little when I feel two hands latch over my eyes from behind. I chuckle when I feel a tiny body next to mine, knowing immediately whom the hands belong to. "Hey," I utter, trying to turn around, but she stopps me.

Her hands move from my eyes, trailing down my face slightly before she steps into my line of sight. "They're beautiful, Eric," she says, referring to the flowers. I smile, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek. She moans slightly, stepping back and pulling me to the couch. I catch her eye and she looks away, seeming a little nervous. My fingers trace her jaw gently. I shoot a question at her, my brows furrowed.

"Work," she says, and the word tells me everything that's going on inside her head. I guess it's a good things she's talking about how we'll handle work; it means we have a relationship to handle. I nod, letting her continue. "What are we gonna do about it?" By asking me, she is sharing the control. She isn't flat out telling me I'm not allowed to do this and I am allowed to do that, she probably knows how much I hate that.

"You wanna keep it a secret?" I ask, twirling a strand of hair between my fingers.

"No," she stated, dropping her eyes. "But I don't want them to know either." She sighed, meeting my eyes. "Maybe we shouldn't tell them. But if they find out…"

"…let them?" She nodded raising her eyebrows as though asking for my opinion. "Well, I'd rather shout it from the roof-tops," I half-joke, enjoying her smile. "But I can get on board with the subtlety thing, I guess."

She nods again; whispering a soft, "thank you" I know is for more than my understanding. Her hips twist, and she presses her body to mine, eyes rising to meet my own. Green on brown; a perfect mixture of color.

"We'll be okay, right?" she asks, and I merely nod, pulling her closer so I can reach her lips, locking my eyes with her, letting her see the unspoken promise I've made to her. Her hair is soft against my fingers, her skin smooth against my cheek. She smiles once more before grabbing a fist of my shirt and pressing her hot lips against mine in a battle of passion no side can win.

Though I'm trying my damned hardest.

_-- Fin --_

_--February 16__th__ 2008 --_


End file.
